


twilight fog

by itllbeall-dwight (dupesoclock)



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26549884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dupesoclock/pseuds/itllbeall-dwight
Summary: Quentin rubbed his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Had Jake seen him crying? He must have, he was always a mess when he cried, the whole works. He kept rubbing until his eyes hurt, throbbing from the soreness of canvas against skin, before he moved his hands to hold himself, scratching at his arm. What was he going to think? Jake was the silent pillar at the campfire, stoic, kept to himself but always had something to say about someone. Always watching. He probably thought he was weak, sat here on his own like this. Surely he-“Knock it off.”--for no matter how long he stays here, he still can't help but be haunted by his nightmare.
Relationships: Quentin Smith & Jake Park
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	twilight fog

**Author's Note:**

> a drabble req from my tumblr, which the fuckin.. stupid website deleted!!!!!!!! I'm still so mad. link to the post [here](https://itwillbeall-dwight.tumblr.com/post/629720217183977472/twilight-fog) if you want to read
> 
> this was such an interesting req bc like.. i love the elm street remake (kill me I dare you) and as someone with adhd i care a lot about quentin bc he's very similar to myself, and then on the other hand, I don't rlly... care much about jake? i love him don't get me wrong but... (gestures to my big gay heart simping for ace and kate and literally anyone else.)
> 
> remember to kudos and comment, share around if you can, it rlly helps me out! and if you want something written from me, the link is up there :3
> 
> stay safe everyone!

A four-man escape. Their best performance yet. So why was it that it was so hard for him to breathe?

Quentin rubbed his nose with the back of his sleeve, sure that the smell of the meat plant was going to get stuck up there, considering how long he’d hidden in the freezer for. Loud whoops from Kate as she slapped Jeff’s back in celebration, the poor man thrown off by the girl’s excitement but still grateful nonetheless, were drowned out by the familiar white noise tickling the back of his brain. The boy looked back to where their trial had just ended, and just beyond the ashy entrails that blocked entrance back in, he saw the familiar figure and the shadow of a claw, just… watching him leave. He saw it move, and one by one, its claws individually moving in a mocking, cutesy wave - see you, for now, until next time. And for a moment, it was if that hand was wrapped around his neck, and ripping the air he was trying to breathe out from his lungs.

Thankfully, the combination of a hyped-up Kate and just Jane herself, in general, was enough to let him sneak away. The campfire was loud, and the fog in the back of his head was getting louder. Quentin wrapped his arms around himself, cold wind shaking him to the core, or maybe, it wasn’t, because it seemed Freddy still had that core in a tight grip, ripping it to ribbons as he felt his knees get weak. Leaning a shoulder against a stray tree, he found himself sliding down to sit on the forest floor, leaves damp despite no rain, pulling his sleeves over his hands and gripping the fabric in a tight fist, just to feel something. It was hard to breathe, the fog was in his lungs and it felt like he was suffocating, and every time he closed his eyes to will himself to take a breath, all he saw was twitching claws and hear the haunting lullaby that followed him in his dreams. But he was awake, he had to be awake. ...Was he awake? Oh god, was he awake-

“Taken?”

The voice scared him, physically feeling himself lurch as he looked up as Jake’s face, light hitting his back and casting his shadow over Quentin. “Uh, no, c-come over.” Please don’t, he silently begged.

But he didn’t pay attention to those unspoken pleas, the survivalist taking a seat beside him on the floor, opening to toolbox he’d brought with him, and slowly sorting through it. Metal hit metal as tools collided with the box and one another, his rummaging slow and meticulous.

Quentin rubbed his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Had Jake seen him crying? He must have, he was always a mess when he cried, the whole works. He kept rubbing until his eyes hurt, throbbing from the soreness of canvas against skin, before he moved his hands to hold himself, scratching at his arm. What was he going to think? Jake was the silent pillar at the campfire, stoic, kept to himself but always had something to say about someone. Always watching. He probably thought he was weak, sat here on his own like this. Surely he-

“Knock it off.”

He paused his thoughts to look up, a bit startled as Jake was now looking at him, a spanner in his hand. A quiet sniffle. “S-sorry, I can’t-”

“No, your arm.” He pointed, and only now did Quentin notice that the jacket had torn, blood staining where a claw had dragged across his skin, now drying. The skin underneath was raw, red and inflamed from the repeated scratching, and blood had gotten all over his hands and fingernails. “‘Don’t get infected here, but good practise. If we get out.”

“Ah, I… guess.”

Jake stared, frowning a little deeper than he was at default, before he put the spanner he was holding back into the toolbox and moved his hands to the back of his neck. “Take off your jacket.”

“W-what?”

“I said-”

“N-no, no, I… I heard you, I’m just...” He trailed off, not really sure how to explain his thought process when he could barely understand it himself, between the brain fog and the white noise, and how much the wires in his brain were naturally crossed when it came to conversation.

The other survivor looked away for a moment, seemingly focused on whatever he was doing with his hands, which turned out to be undoing his scarf from around his neck. He seemed so naked without it. “I was gonna wrap your arm, just until you decide when you wanna go back.”

So they  _ hadn’t  _ noticed he was gone, so Jake wasn’t sent to come after him. Huh. “Ah… right, sorry.” And so Quentin did as he was told, letting his jacket fall on the floor behind him as he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt a little, watching Jake tie the scarf around his lanky arm with expert precision.

He nodded as he finished, quickly moving his hand away and going back to focusing on the toolbox he’d brought with him, seemingly wanting nothing else to do with Quentin. 

But he wasn’t done. As he let the sleeve of his shirt go from his fingers, and reached behind him to grab his jacket and rest it on his lap, he found himself speaking again. “What’re you doing here?”

“Wish I could tell you.”

“...No, not like…  _ here _ , just. Here. With me.”

“It’s my thinking tree.”

“Huh?”

Without looking behind him, Jake moved his shoulder and pointed to the tree bark just behind him. Sure enough, crudely carved with something blunt, his initials, JP, were right there.

“...Shit, now I feel-”

“Don’t.” The survivalist cut him off before he could finish, glancing up for a moment or two. “You needed it more than me. I can share.”

The harshness of his affirmation made Quentin stop, mouth hanging with another excuse on the tip of his tongue before he decided it would be best to drop it again, not wanting to drag on the pity. He looked down at his hands, to his own blood on his fingertips, gently tugging at the sleeves. “What’re you… thinking about?”

“Hm?” He looked up again.

“You said this was your thinking tree, so what are you thinking about?”

Jake looked away for a moment, down at his toolbox, before glancing back up and shrugging his shoulders. “I dunno.”

He didn’t know what else he expected, really. Still, it made him laugh a little, still shaking a bit, and for a moment he swore he was Jake’s mouth tug into an ever-so-slight smile.

They didn’t say much else after that, and the sound of rummaging tools was more of a comfort than anything anxiety-inducing, enough that Quentin had even taken to watching him sort (he would have closed his eyes and listened, but he couldn’t bear to do it, not here, not now) with precision.

“What’re you missing?”

“Hacksaw. Think we have a few spare, I don’t know.”

“Oh, we do. I think David brought one back a few trials ago.”

Jake hummed, nodding to himself as he put everything back again, picking the wet leaves off every so often.

The boy watched him again, looking up to analyse his face for a moment, before he continued. “Uh… thanks.”

The box snapped shut, the mechanism locking as he flicked it up and over the latch again, as the survivalist looked over, eyebrow raised.

“Well, just- for the… scarf,” He lifted up his arm, waving it around weakly before letting it rest again, elbow on his thigh. “And, uh… being here.”

“I was coming here anyway. It’s fine. But…” Jake paused, tapping a gloved hand on top of the metal box resting in front of him. “You’re, uh… welcome. Just- don’t… do this again. People are gonna ask. You probably dont wanna talk about it. So, I dunno, if you feel… bad. I’m- well, I’m not  _ good _ , but-”

“I think this is the most I’ve heard you say in one breath.”

Jake was caught off guard by that, and then, Quentin was entirely sure he smiled at him. “Yeah… guess so.”

So he didn’t have to have an impromptu therapy session yet, at least. Jake knew something was up, but he wasn’t going to ask… nor was he forget about it either. But that wasn’t as unnerving as it should have been. Because now Jake kept an eye on him, and little by little, there were cracks starting to show in that cold exterior he’d put on for so long. So, in a way, the worst of it had brought on a new era at the campfire. The one where Quentin could close his eyes and smile, and the one where Jake could finally connect with someone.


End file.
